I Know A Secret
by Dr. T. Tam
Summary: With Sidney & Charlie out of the picture, Jill got away with the 2nd Woodsboro murders & basked in the glow of her 'heroics' for a couple years when Ghostface makes a return to ruin her plans. What motive could the killer have this time? Please R&R!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I do not own any part of the Scream series. Wes Craven and Kevin Williamson are the owners of all the original characters listed here. I respect them and they are geniuses. **However**, if they _really _had wanted to change the rules as the preview for Scre4m/Scream 4 promised us, they would have done things a bit differently. That's what I'm going to do with this story. I've tossed in a couple of my own minor characters for now, with more to come in later chapters.

I took liberties in altering the original endings of Scream 1, 2, and 4, as well as bringing in an element from 3. The changes I made involve different characters living that didn't originally, or dying that didn't originally. Just about all those changes are covered in this first chapter, and chapter two.

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><p>Jill Roberts gasped for breath when she came to in her hospital bed to find Deputy Dewey Riley standing at her side.<p>

"Jill! You made it!" Dewey whispered excitedly, "That's all that matters."

"Trevor and Charlie, they tried to kill me," Jill whined through the pain of her mangled face, "And I heard they killed my mom," she began to cry, bringing a hand to her mouth, "And Robbie and Kirby too,"

"Shh, just try to rest," Dewey attempted to comfort her, "there is a bit of good news-sort of," he curled his lips getting lost in thought momentarily.

"Is it-is your wife...?" Jill's voice trailed off as she asked and Dewey grinned though his eyes remained dejected.

"She's gonna be fine," He assured Jill, "She's recovering."

Jill stared up at the ceiling, pondering her next words, "If I ever write a book one day, I'd want her to write it with me," She returned the officer's small smile, causing him to chuckle, "We'd be a good team with our matching wounds and all," Jill motioned to her injured shoulder, "We're survivors now," She drew in a deep breath, looking back up at Dewey, "I just wish Sidney was too."

"Jill," Dewey narrowed his eyes as he spoke, careful not to up the broken girl's hopes, "They're not sure yet, it's still touch and go. But she's in ICU!" He gave the smallest glimmer of a smile, while Jill's expression changed to disbelief, "And they think Sidney just might make it. Kirby and Robbie-they may pull through as well. Everyone's in pretty bad shape. Robbie's the worst off, with the most vital organs damaged, but he just might pull through!" His face glowed even with the odds not completely in their favor.

"What?" Jill asked, obvious disbelief in her eyes, "I-wha-," she stuttered, "But I saw trevor kill her," She insisted.

"Look, we don't know yet," Dewey continued, "But she's hanging on."

"I-I wanna see her," Jill requested.

"She's not awake yet, and she may not remember anything," Dewey warned, "You'll have to help her with that. All in time. Just get some rest now, okay?" The two exchanged more smiles, then Dewey left to let Jill relax. As soon as he walked back out into the hall Jill sat up and began removing the monitors from her fingers and chest, as well as the IV in her hand, and she hurried out the door.

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><p>"She gonna be okay?" Gale asked of Jill, when her husband returned to her room in the same wing of the hospital.<p>

"Yeah, she's a strong kid," Dewey nodded confidently, one of the few things he knew for certain at that moment.

"She's gonna have to be," Gale observed from experience, to which Dewey smirked, raising his eyebrows in agreement.

"She asked if you were okay," He told her, "She thinks you guys should write a book together. With your matching wounds," he added with goofy eyes.

"Why, she was stabbed in the shoulder?" Gale asked

Dewey nodded.

"How did she know I was too?"

Dewey paused, bit his lip and gave a crosseyed look, followed closely by a stupid grin, "It's all over the internet, sweetie. Remember? The killers filmed all their attacks," his words calmed them both, but only for a moment. "I'm gonna go check on Sid just to be sure," his words sounded unsettling as he hobbled out of Gale's room toward the ICU, remembering how Jill had acted oddly when he mentioned Sidney just might make it.

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><p>"You just won't die, will you?" Jill growled through her dry throat less than a few feet outside the doorway to Sidney's room. She was out of breath but new she had to press on in order to keep her secret safe. Just as she neared the door however, a siren sounded, white lights blinked on and off quick and blinding enough to induce a seizure, and shouts rang out from behind her.<p>

"What is she doing on this wing? Stop her!" A nurse yelled.

"Sid! Stop her!" Dewey's voice was the loudest among them, and Jill sank to the floor, her heart ready to burst. Her plans were rapidly disolving.

"Crash cart NOW!" Another nurse ordered.

"Grab her! Get her out of the way!" Jill wasn't listening anymore but vaguely felt herself being gripped under the arms and dragged out of the way of several nurses charging toward Sidney's room pushing a crash cart through the door.

A woman screamed when she saw Dewey draw his gun, and another nurse pressed him to put it away, "What're you doing officer? There's no need for that in here while we have people dying on their own left and right."

"This is official police business, ma'am, step aside and allow me to do my job. I need to apprehend this suspect," Dewey urged, kneeling beside the now unconscious Jill, "What'd she do to Ms. Prescott?" he asked the shocked head nurse.

"Suspect? This little thing? Why, she didn't do anything to Ms. Prescott. You've lost your mind something fierce, officer. One of mine was in checking her vitals and tipped off the alarm because she stopped breathing. Now will YOU get out of the way and let us do OUR job?" the nurse was intensely annoyed by this point.

Dewey scratched his head, looking between the nurse towering above him, and Jill Roberts motionless, pale body crumpled on the floor beside him reluctantly putting away his weapon.

"Well move it!" The nurse barked once more, "Or this one could flatline too."

Dewey stood, letting the staff tend to Jill, checking to see if she hit her head when she collapsed. Over the next several minutes he poked his head into Sidney's room piriodically to monitor her progress as the crowd of nurses worked hard to revive her. The last time he came out, Gale was rounding the corner in her hospital gown, a worried as hell look upon her face, "Dewey!" She whispered angrily at him, eyes wide, "Mind giving me a freaking update here? You just ran off and next thing I know sirens are going off," the couple limped toward each other and embraced, Gale slapping his chest lightly, clenching her eyes tight to hold back tears, "How's Sid? Did Jill-"

"Shhh," Dewey shook his head, "No, we got it wrong. Jill isn't the problem. I'm sure of it now," he paused, all breath escaping his lungs as he forced himself to finish the next sentence, while Gale peered worriedly over his shoulder, spotting an exhausted trio of nurses retreating slowly from Sidney's room, one of them removing her latex gloves, looking up at the ceiling. "Gale-" Dewey went on, "They lost her."

"No! You're lying, I can feel it. Go back in and ask again. It isn't true!" When the words left Dewey's tongue Gale instantly began bawling into his chest. He pulled her into him tighter, darting his eyes around the ICU at the people staring at them. He signaled to the head nurse he'd argued with earlier as she suddenly emerged from Sidney's room behind the others.

"Would you call her father? I'd like him notified as soon as possible-have him get in touch with me to make arrangements," he requested.

Outside in the parking lot throngs of reporters buzz before their camera crews about the hero, Jill Roberts, with no knowledge of the events taking place within the walls behind them.

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><p>2 12 YEARS LATER

"No way, get out" Emily laughed into the phone, "I thought she dropped off the face of the planet. She stopped talking to me probably six months ago now. Deleted me on Facebook, won't answer calls. Didn't tell me where she was moving to, the whole shebang-and she actually called you up? What'd she say?"

"Not very much. It was just a voicemail actually," Came her friend's voice from the other end of the line. "I haven't called her back. I'm not sure how to go about it. All she said was she's been thinking of me, was sorry it's been so long since we last spoke, and how much she missed the old crew. That she went through a rough time questioning her faith in God but was turning her life back in the right direction."

"Riiight," Emily rolled her eyes into the phone as she opened her fridge to retrieve a liter of Pepsi, then shut it again.

"Look," her friend said, "I know you think Christianity is just mumbo jumbo but she sounded serious and I think she needs our help. She needs someone along side her, and I won't be around this summer. Will you please just get in touch with her?"

"Sorry, but whatever gripe she has with God isn't my problem," Emily responded coldly, joining Jamie on the couch, "I was her friend. She's the one who ditched out on us, in case you don't recall. You yourself said you aren't sure how to, what was it? 'Go about calling her back'. But anyway, speaking of you not being around this summer, are we gonna see you before you take off? You know I'll cry if we don't," Emily said that last part with sarcastic sadness, and wiped a fake tear from the corner of her eye.

"Afraid not, sorry. I'm not even going to get sleep tonight, I'm so far behind on packing and I don't yet have a ride to the airport in the morning. I would need to leave before sunrise, so the only way we could make this work is if you wanted to give me a lift."

"Ah, sorry, I've got to get my beauty rest. Practice tomorrow, you know how it is," Emily sighed.

"Thought so. What are you two up to tonight though?"

"Watching a couple of the Stab movies. Only the good ones, the original trilogy. You're missing out!" Emily teased.

"No thanks," the other girl forced a small laugh, "Well, I gotta go. I'll call you from my folks' place, K Em?"

"Sure thing, sweetie, have a safe flight!" Emily ended the call, and placed her cell down, turning on the movie.

"You are so socially inept, have I ever told you that?" Jamie asked.

"What bug crawled up your butt, James?" Emily asked, giving a confused look.

"You ditz, her brother is Randy Meeks, one of the guys who got hacked to death at that university Sidney Prescott went to, and you invite her to watch a Stab marathon with us?" Jamie gave Emily a sour look, "Nice move. Anyway, she said Cameron called her?"

Just then the doorbell rang.

"Must be the pizza," Emily announced happily, rising back up off the couch to answer the door, "And yeah-strangest thing. Just left Martha a message out of the blue," She picked up her wallet on her way through the kitchen to the front door, still talking, "Something about going through a spiritual crisis or whatever. Who cares. I'm over worrying about Cameron," She tugged open the door, "Hey how much...?" She began to say but found no one there. She stepped outside on to the dark porch, looking from side to side, seeing no one. She reached a hand back inside and flicked the light switch a few times. Nothing.

"Damn bulb," she rolled her eyes, thoroughly annoyed. Just then a car door slammed at the curb and the delivery guy ran up the walkway toward her.

"Sorry about that, Miss," He laughed, "Had to grab your pasta dish from the car," he stumbled back up to the door balancing a pile of boxes in in arms.

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><p>Martha was still staring at the phone after her conversation with Emily, thinking about the last time she'd talked to her brother Randy.<p>

"Hey sis, how's my favorite little nerd?" An extreme close up of his goatee to the bridge of his nose filled her computer screen as he adjusted the webcam perched atop his own screen, then sat down so they could see eachother.

"Oh, I'm fine...miss you lots, Randy!" a goofy, 15 year old Martha giggled childishly at her big brother, "Do you know yet if you're coming back home in the spring?"

"Uhhhh, I can neither confirm nor deny that piece of information at this point in time. Some recent developments have arisen which may require my presence here on campus," Randy replied sounding serious, "But!" he grinned, you can bet this guy's gonna make it up to you over the summer. We're going to have the most epic 2 months of your your little life so far. It'll be the summer of all summers filled with plenty of air hockey pwning, Godfather and Mad Max marathons, greasy Chinese food by the buckets AND," he rose a finger into the air, pausing to increase the suspense, "All the go carts, laser tag and banana splits you can stomach. Provided of course I can convince mom and dad to not charge me rent as they've unfortunately forewarned me they would," he spoke that last part quickly, under his breath. Martha gasped.

"There's a new lady friend in your life, isn't there, Mr.?" she asked him accusingly, though with an ear to ear smile plastered on her face.

"Why dear child, there are multiple members of the female persuasion in this stud's life," He spoke with an arrogance before finishing in a more humbled tone, "Nearly all of them just don't know it yet," causing Martha to squeal giddily once more. "What gave me away?" Randy inquired.

"It would be the only reason I could imagine you wouldn't want to come back to boring old Woodsboro for Spring break," Martha joked, rolling her eyes, "That. That, and the ugly animal growing out of your face."

"What, this?" Randy raised his eyebrows defensively, fingering his goatee, "Hey, the women folk here in college like a man with facial hair. They find it a mark of...sophistication."

"Keep telling yourself that, bro, and see how long the lucky damsel sticks around-" Martha looked over her shoulder, then back into the camera looking gloomy, "Oh fudge. Mom is insisting I help her bake goodies," she put the word goodies in air quotes and slumped low in her swivel chair, "For her stupid book club tomorrow. I hate that just because I have a vag she assumes I need to bake things, discuss romance novels or take up gardening for the sake of mother daughter bonding. UGH!"

"So ignore her," Randy suggested, "She'll get the message.

"No. She won't," Martha turned in her seat again, shouting "Yes, mother! I'll be there in a sec. Webcamming with Randy right now," She turned back to face him and muttered, "It wouldn't be so bad if their club actually read something decent for a change."

"Ah, now there's a woman after my own heart," Randy laughed, "If only we weren't related and were twins. Wait-" He replayed that last statement in his mind.

"Ew, gross!" Martha wrinkled her nose.

"I didn't mean it like that, Marty," Randy struggled to claw himself out of the hole he'd dived into, "I meant if we were the same age-"

"You're such a dude sometimes," she sighed.

"So are you, Ms. Warcraft!"

"Whatever," She stuck her tongue out playfully, "I do need to go though. Next week, same bat-time?"

"Same bat-channel," Randy finished the thought, "Hey sis...I love you, Marty. Say hi to mom," there was a sense of urgency in his voice that Martha did not pick up on, distracted by her mother's further pestering.

"Night!" She waved, "I'M COMING! Jebus Cripes," she groaned and Randy chuckled before both their screens went black.

Next week never came, not for Randy at least. Nor did that epic summer of summers. Martha hadn't even said she'd loved him before clicking the disconnect button, and it ate at her often.

Snapping back to the present, Martha set down her cell and looked at her bedside clock, noting that it was 8:03 PM.

"Shoot! I'm late! Where is it?" She spun around eying every corner of her bedroom and raced down the hall to the couch where her laptop sat open, jumping beside it, pulling on her headset mic, and logging into Skype, then clicking on the contact called 'RIPOlivia4Ever', who accepted the call and seconds later Kirby Reed and Jill Roberts appeared on the screen side by side smiling back at her.

"We were beginning to wonder if you'd show up, Missy! You're never late," Kirby observed.

"Sorry y'all, got tied up on another call and lost track of time. How are you?" Martha waved at the other girls.

"Excited to finally meet you face to face tomorrow!" Jill chimed gleefully.

"I know, right? And I'll be in town for your birthday, Jill. I'm so stoked. It's just a shame it's taken so long for us to make it happen. So you're sure you can meet me at the airport so early in the day?" Martha asked.

"Yes, for the billionth time, quit being such a spaz!" Kirby promised, "We're just as pumped to see you as you are us, no sweat. We'll be there,"

"Great, I really appreciate that what with not having any real ties there anymore. Hey listen, speaking of which do you mind if I do a little packing while we talk?"

"Of course, go for it," Jill nodded.

"Thank you. I haven't been too great at managing my time lately. I'm so scatterbrained."

"Spaz," Kirby winked.

"Oh shove it, sister," Martha feigned a dirty look, "I'll show you spaz when I come to town!" They all laughed. Martha stood from the couch holding the laptop and returned to her room where she set it on her desk, "I can't stay on long, FYI. I still need to run down to the laundramat and pick up a load of clothes. My dryer is on the fritz still."

"Bummer," Kirby frowned, "That's perfect though, Jill and I still need to get dolled up. We have another charity dinner to host.

"Ohhh! Lucky ducks. Where's this one at?" Martha asked as she streched her mic chord as far as it would go so she could simultaneously throw things in her suitcase propped open on the bed while chatting.

"The Flamingo Confrence Resort-" Jill beamed.

"And Spa!" Kirby butted in.

"Yes, of course hun," Jill rolled her eyes, "Flamingo Conference Resort and Spa. In Sanoma."

"Wine country!" Kirby again.

"Would you cool it?" Jill laughed

"A spa?" Martha's eyes grew wide as she stole a glance back at the screen, "I'm so jealous I haven't been able to partake in all the festivities so far. I can't wait to live it up when I get there."

"Yeah, that's right be jealous," Kirby posed dramatically, cocking her head to the side and wagged her finger, "We're total fucking rock stars from Mars now. But Jill here has been the one to have the most fun. I can only stay one night. I've got class after we kidnap you when you land while you both get to enjoy the aforementioned spa to the max.

"That's right," Jill clapped, "We're gonna have so much fun. I'll make it up to you for the other dinners and galas you missed."

"I get to go to this one?" Martha's face lit up even more than before.

"Yep," Jill nodded, "It was supposed to be a surprise but Dufus number two here spilled the beans."

"Why am I dufus number two?" Kirby moped, "Why do you get to be dufus number one?"

"You are mistaken, Robbie is Dufus number one," Jill corrected her, "I on the other hand am not a dufus. I'm the brains of this operation. Along with Martha of course."

"Aw, you're such a sweetie," Martha gave a soft smile as she folded a jacket and placed it in her suitcase, "I'm so glad we connected despite the circumstances. We make such a great team. You youngins would have made Randy and Sid so happy, coming up with such an amazing organization to reach out to others touched by murderer psychos. So, I was thinking about a new logo by the way," She started to say but stopped, staring blankly at the girls on the screen, as if she were looking past them.

"Something wrong?" Jill asked, concerned. Martha said nothing for a few seconds, and Kirby shivered, feeling a strange chill run through the room.

"Sorry," Martha shook her head, "Spaced out there for a second. Hang on," she took off her headphones and the girls heard her faintly say, "Where is it?" as she disappeared on the ground to the right of their screen behind her bed at the far wall.

"She's so cute," Kirby observed. The girls watched as Martha's closet door to the left on their screen suddenly but slowly fell open and Ghostface's mask appeared amongst an otherwise black rectangle surrounding it.

"Holy fuck," Kirby's heart stopped, "Do you see what I see?"

"She must be joking with us," Jill uttered quietely. At that moment they spotted movement below the white mask, something shiny. A knife.

"MARTHA!" Both girls yelled in unison into their webcam's mic.

"Martha get the fuck up!" Jill yelled.

"Martha stood up from behind the bed smiling proudly, holding up a digital camera and it's charger. She noticed the girls frantic motions and returned a bewildered look. By the time she figured they were instructing her to look to her side, she glanced across the room to her bedroom door near the closet door. Ghostface's mask was no longer there on the girls' screen, just the dark of the closet but still they persisted. Martha walked around her bed and sat at the desk, once more pulling her headphones on. With her body in front of the camera, the closet was no longer visible.

"What're you two going on about?"

"Look behind you in the closet!"

The light in Martha's room went out, leaving the room completely black, save for the light of the computer barely illuminating Martha's face to the girls.

"What the heck?" Martha yelped at the sudden darkness, and a moment later disappeared with a loud yelp. The girls remained quiet, their faces pale as they listened to more of Martha's muffled cries, and rustling around the room, along with the very slight occassional sound of metal.

Silence.

Ghostface's grainy image appeared at the desk out of the darkness. The girls were able to just barely make out the gloved hands picking up the headphones and putting them on. That all too familiar, eerie voice followed.

"Jill, Kirby. It's nice to see you alive and well again. Healed up quite nicely from the last time you saw this face, Haven't you? Shame that'll be changing in the not so distant future."

"What the fuck do you want?" Jill screeched into the mic.

"Secrets, secrets are no fun," came the reply, beginning as a whisper, growing progressively louder, "Secrets, secrets hurt someONE!" Ghostface ended with a growl, then disappeared back into the darkness.

"What have you done with Martha? She didn't do shit to you, you dickless faggot!" Kirby snarled, outraged. A moment later the light turned on, revealing a blood drenched room. Red was splattered all about the walls, the desk, floor, and bed, the sheets of which had now been thrashed about, the suit case gone, replaced by Martha's body, sprawled on her back. Nearly naked now, she lay, intestines spilled out beside her much in the way Olivia had been found. Her face fell to the side, blood stained lips, and her eyes buldging as she coughed signalling there was still life left in her, her stare piercing a hole into the minds of her terrified spectators. The lights went out once more.

"I'll be seeing your insides real soon," Ghostface hissed before disconnecting.

Kirby finally broke the silence, asking in a shaky voice, "What are we supposed to do now?"

"I don't know..." Jill stared, horror on her face.

"God-Jill?" Kirby looked down at the floor where a puddle of pee was leaking from Jill's sweatpants.

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><p>AN: So to recap, Kirby, Jill, and Robbie are alive. Please review!


	2. Chapter 2

Sorry this chapter's much shorter than the first. The rest of them should be as long as before. Please review and let me know if I should continue.

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><p>"...and Stuart Macher met enraged protesters upon exiting a courthouse yesterday in Santa Rosa following their back to back parole hearings in which they were released for good behavior after each serving over 15 years behind bars for their roles as accomplices in 2 seperate strings of serial killings responsible for the popular Stab movie series, the first three of which are centered around the key target of the actual serial killings, Sidney Prescott. Prescott was victimized in two further incidents of murders, the last of which took place back where it all started in Woodsboro where she ultimately lost her life at the hands of Charlie Walker and Trevor Sheldon," Gale Riley sighed as she watched the reporter speak on TV as if she were rattling off winning Powerball Lotto numbers, or the upcoming week's forecast. Gale quickly grabbed the remote from the nightstand beside the bed where she lay, and scrambled to change the channel as her husband Dewey walked into the bedroom, but it slid from her fingers landing with a thud on the rug at Dewey's feet. He bent forward, picked up the remote, put it back on the nightstand after turning off the TV and sat beside his wife in her lavender PJs. They hugged, he kissed her neck, she moaned, leaning her neck back.<p>

When he withdrew he asked softly, "Why were you watching that? I thought we decided we were skipping the rulings because we didn't want to hear the verdicts."

"Dewey," Gale shook her head in frustration and pulled away from his arms around her waist, "We can't escape hearing the outcome for any length of time. We didn't go because we were afraid this would happen and didn't want them to see the looks on our faces when they won." She stood from the bed and headed for the bathroom, shutting the door halfway behind her as she kept talking, "And how the hell did that bastard Mickey end up having his parole hearing so near to Woodsboro? He isn't even from here, nor did any of his murders occur here."

"He and Stu were represented by the same attorney," Dewey began to explain, "And he somehow managed to manipulate-"

"Okay, okay I don't really care. Sorry I asked," Gale cut him off, coming back out of the bathroom, having changed into sweats and a brown leather jacket, "Look at them," she said as if she felt sick, watching the looped footage of Stu and Mickey bowing, waving there hands, wearing broad smiles to top off their classy suits as if they were walking down a red carpet surrounded by loving fans rather than the steps of a courthouse surrounded by an angry mob, "It makes my stomach churn knowing freaks like these can walk for good behavior."

"Going somewhere?" Dewey asked her with concern.

"To vistit Sidney," Gale replied as she walked down the hall toward the front door, but paused for a moment and added, "Talk to her father. I'm sure he isn't taking this news well," She chuckled weakly, "I haven't talked to him since her services. I suck," She looked down at her feet, memories of Sidney's funeral firiing like rockets. Her face had looked so peaceful, still, almost porcelain doll like in that casket as Gale, Dewey, her father, Kirby, Jill, Deputy Hicks, Detective Hoss and the others filed past to say their goodbyes. Robbie couldn't be in attendance because he hadn't been released from the hospital yet.

At least she doesn't have to be around to see this day, Gale thought to herself as she walked out the door, after speaking one more time, "And talk to one of your old cop commrades, will you? Have them chase Mickey and Stu's sorry asses as far from this town as possible."

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><p>So who wants to know who Ghostface is and what the motive is this time? :D Yes, Hoss survived as well, and yes I brought back Micky &amp; Stu because Timothy Olyphant &amp; Matthew Lillard are awesome.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Ryan Kwan is based on the likeness of actor John Cho. Roxanne Reynolds is based on the likeness of actress Kat Dennings. Dale Swanson is based on the likeness of Neil Patrick Harris. Also, if you started reading this story prior to the upload of the third chapter, I've made slight changes to chapters one and two. Specifically, I've elaborated on the part where Emily answered the door in Chapter One, and the conversation between Gale and Dewey in Chapter Two.

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><p>When Gale left home, Dewey headed for the Woodsboro police station. He crept quietly in, donning a pair of shades and a baseball cap hoping not to be recognized, and made his way to the door marked 'Sheriff Burke', letting himself in.<p>

"Connecticut, you say? Well that could take some time to check up on, girls…" Carl Burke was an exact duplicate of his older brother who served as Woodsboro's sheriff before passing the torch down to Dewey. Gale had begged him to step down after the Charlie/Trevor fiasco and Dewey, not wanting to rock the boat agreed. Now the job was Carl's, "I see, and you're just now reporting this?" He spoke in to the phone, "I'll look into it. See what I can do but-" he paused when Dewey took off his glasses and hat, "But right now I need to take another call. Sure you don't want to leave contact info…I see. Take care now. Private Eye Dewey Riley, to what do I owe the pleasure of your presence in my office?" He hung up the phone, leaning back in his chair.

"Uh, hello Sheriff Burke," Dewey scrunched up the ball cap in his hands. It had been a stake in his pride each time he addressed Carl as 'Sheriff' after having given up the post, "What's in Connecticut?"

"Just an anonymous report of a missing person's case-nothing that concerns you any longer. However-"

"Sheriff I finished writing up the report on that car jacking you-Dewey!" Judy Hicks had walked into the office with a manila folder which she dropped when she spotted her former superior.

"Hello Judy," Dewey half turned toward the excited woman, smiling shyly before facing Burke once more.

"Judy, could you excuse us for a few moments please?" Burke nodded at the door. Judy wobbled back and forth on each of her feet, still gushing up at Dewey.

"We sure do miss you around these parts, Dew," She told him, "Let us know if you ever want to come b-"

"Judy?"

"Sorry, Sheriff. Um. Say hi to your wife for me, Dew" Judy mumbled before rushing out the door again.

"Will do, Judy."

"How is Gale these days?" Burke asked once the door was again shut.

"She's hanging in there, thank you, Sheriff," Dewey sighed, "Gets a bit impatient at times because the work isn't too steady, you know, with not taking on any violence related cases and all…but she's actually the reason I came down here, Sheriff," He explained.

"That so?"

"Yeah, you see, I'm sure you know by now about the release of Stuart Macher and Mickey…" Dewey scratched his head not being able to recall Mickey's last name right then.

"Go on."

"Well, you see, the Mrs. Is a bit disturbed and we were wondering if you could pool some resources to keep tabs on them. Maybe even put a detail at the grave site to prevent vandalism-"

"Dwight," Burke stopped him, "I don't want them in my town anymore than you do. I can't just set up a road blocks around the entire area to keep them out, though. Nor can I keep someone on lookout around the clock at the cemetery. You know I don't have that kind of ability. You no longer where the badge, so you leave the law keeping to my officers and I, deal?"

"Sure, Sheriff," Dewey conceded.

"Now. There is one thing that could use your attention. Take a seat," Dewey did so, and Burke went on, "I imagine it pays as well, but you'll need to travel out of state."

"Sir?"

"Got a call a day or two ago asking for Sheriff Dewey Riley," Burke replied.

"A day or two ago?" Dewey's eyes widened, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm telling you now, aren't I?" Burke sat back upright in his chair.

Dewey didn't answer.

"The call came from a precinct in Georgetown, Colorado," Burke paused and watched as Dewey shifted in his seat, remaining silent, "I'm going to take a wild guess that you recognize this name," Burke pushed a slip of paper with a hand written message on it across his desk. Dewey glanced down at it briefly, already aware of the name he'd find there.

"Yes sir. I do," Dewey answered shortly, "Did something happen to them?"

"Reported missing. Friends said for 24 hours by the time the report was filed, which was…" Burke took a look at the slip of paper, "72 hours ago. They insisted you report to help out. The woman I spoke to said you'd know who to contact. Case is all yours if you want it."

"Thank you, Sheriff."

* * *

><p>Later that same day Jill and Kirby strolled into Woodsboro Community College's cafeteria and scanned the crowded tables.<p>

"There's our little drummer boy," Kirby pointed to one far corner and the pair made their way toward Robbie who was sipping from a glass coke bottle held in a fingerless biker gloved hand.

"Sup, Rollie?" Kirby winked at him as they sat down on the opposite side of the round table.

"How's it hangin' Crap Bag?" Robbie grinned back, causing Kirby to scowl to which Robbie said "How is it that you expect me to be secure with the nicknames you assign to me based off my condition, while at the same time cringing when I stick you with one in return in reference to you colostomy bag?"

"I'm not the one who joined a band that advertises my situation," Kirby shot back, looking at him out of the corner of her eye, "Besides, mine's not as obvious, punk."

"Alright, I'm going to have to ask that we not discuss any of your battle scars in my presence please?" asked bass player Ryan Kwan, sitting beside Robbie with his tray of food accompanied by his squeeze, guitarist Roxanne Reynolds, "It's bad enough we've got two of you in the band. We don't need you cursing us with your slasher magnetism. I have a very strong desire to not have my throat slit, if that's okay with you lot."

"Lighten up, Ryan would you?" keyboardist Dale Swanson took the seat on the other side of Robbie holding two trays, one for Robbie and one for himself, "Ladies, always pleasing to see you," He greeted Jill and Kirby.

"Thanks, Dale. You're my hero," Robbie acknowledged the tray of food in jest.

"Of course, Dream Boat," Dale responded and went in for a kiss.

"Hi Dale, you gorgeous tease," Kirby smiled warmly at him, interrupting the boys' passionate lip locking.

"I'm no tease, Kirb. I find beautiful women such as yourselves aesthetically pleasing to the eye," Dale promised her.

"Why are the most beautiful men all gay?" Kirby pined.

"I'm not gay," Ryan offered.

"You're neither beautiful, nor available, darling," Roxanne told him flatly.

"Ouch. Why must you be so hurtful, my love?"

"What's up with her?" Robbie shrugged a shoulder in the direction of Jill while swallowing a forkful of chili, noticing Jill hadn't said a word so far and had hardly moved, not even meeting his gaze yet.

"She's…a tad shaken up," Kirby's demeanor suddenly became very rigid as she turned to look at her friend, "You haven't heard from Martha by chance, have you?"

"Martha?" Robbie narrowed his eyebrows as he pondered the question, "Weren't you two supposed to collect her at the airport today?"

"Yeah, about that. Something came up. She didn't make the flight," Kirby told him.

"Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure."

"Any idea what happened?" concern filled Robbie's words.

"Somewhat, yes."

"Have you tried getting in touch with her gentlemen friend?"

"No response," Kirby told him.

"Is it going to affect your singing ability during rehearsal with Acoustic Urine later today?" Robbie asked Jill, frustrated.

"Them?" Jill suddenly snapped out of her trance, "What the hell happened to Cochise Mist?"

"They backed out, I'm sorry," Robbie shrugged, "Besides, we'll draw more of a crowd with them on our ticket. Think of the buzz it'll raise!"

"Who?" Kirby asked, confused.

"Acoustic Urine," Robbie repeated, "Niles Walker, and his little brother Clay's band."

"Oh…" Kirby shuddered at the sound of those names the names of Charlie Walker's older and younger brothers.

"It was them!" Jill suddenly exclaimed loud enough to garner stares from surrounding tables, "I know it had to be them. They were definitely involved. They have to be!"

"Involved in what, exactly?" Robbie asked, with unease.

"Really honey? They traveled across the country last night to fuck with us and now are gonna be back in time for your stupid rehearsal tonight? I don't think so. And it's nothing. We'll talk about it later when you have some time," Kirby said quickly, then, "What's there group's name again?"

"Acoustic urine," Ryan laughed stupidly.

"Don't ask how they managed to come up with such a mind blowing band name," Roxanne sounded not the slightest bit amused, "No one really knows. My best guess? A bunch of stoners who crammed two random words together, one of them related to music, and one of them they grotesquely found hilarious. Quite frankly I'm surprised they didn't opt for Acoustic Fart, which would have been more suited to the way they sound."

"Remind me again what your band name is and why it fits?" Kirby asked, eying Robbie.

"The Eighth Dwarf and Other Survivors," Robbie answered, looking into Dale's eyes dreamily, following another shameless assault on one another's mouths, "It's a reference to Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, with me being the eighth, called Gimpy. The one they kept in the closet for years because they were ashamed to let their neighbors see me. Haven't you checked out the online comic yet? I've emailed you the link more than once. It's meant as a companion to our lyrics."

"Sorry," Kirby gave a fake smile, "I haven't gotten the chance to look at it yet."

* * *

><p>When Dewey returned to find the house empty he rang Gale's cell while he packed.<p>

"Dewey, hi," Gale sounded surprised.

"Hey, you're not back yet. Still at the cemetery?"

"Uh…yeah. Sorry, what's up?"

"I've got to go out of town for a few days. Colorado. A missing person's case," Dewey told her.

"Colorado? That's a first. Not dangerous is it?"

"No, I promise. It won't be long. I'll call you when I get there."

"Alright babe. Stay safe, soldier."

"Always."

* * *

><p>AN: Sorry Ghostface doesn't make an appearance in this chapter! In chapter four I'll make up for that. I'll have another update ready sometime after the Easter holiday weekend.


	4. Chapter 4

Ritchie Doyle is based on the likeness of Seth Green. Penny Montoya is based on the likeness of Summer Glau.

* * *

><p>"All set?" DJ Ritchie Doyle nodded at Jill and the band, to which she smiled kindly, "We're on in 60 seconds."<p>

"This was a great idea, Jill. We're really moving up in the world getting airtime with this guy…" Ryan's voice reeked of sarcasm.

"you're such a whiner, dweeb," Roxanne shook her head at her boyfriend.

Ritchie began counting down, "On in five, four, three, two…Strawberry Gashes, that's by Jack Off Jill from the Stab 6 soundtrack. That woman has some wicked pipes, doesn't she? Hello everybody and thank you for joining yours truly, Ritchie 'toxicomaniac' Doyle bringing you tunes to be killed by on Stab Internet Radio, broadcasting out of my cave deep in the bowels of Woodsboro," he drew in a long, exaggerated breath, "And speaking of women to die for who rock, here in the studio with me at this very moment it is my pleasure to introduce the boys and gals from the Eighth Dwarf & Other Survivors, led by front woman Jill Roberts. Say hello, gang."

"Hi," said Dale.

"Hey there, Radio Land," Robbie smiled.

"Herrooooo," Roxanne batted her eyelashes as if the listeners could see her.

"Hello gang," Ryan mimicked Ritchie.

"Hi everybody," Jill cooed. Kirby stood beside her quietly in the crowded sound booth, not wearing headphones like the rest of them.

"Great," Ritchie went on, "So you guys have been around for a little while now, played a bunch of shows throughout most of Nor Cal, and of course gathered a hefty number of fans so far, and no doubt a majority of them are listening. Coming up toward the bottom of the hour we're going to have a little chat, then open up the phone lines and give some of those fans the chance to ask their questions, pan out some things that are on everyone's minds about the band. How you all met, what the lyrics mean, for those who may not know you very well or at all how exactly you decided upon the name you came up with, how this web comic fits into the whole equation, and one thing I've been wondering is how Jill is your lead singer yet Robbie, aka 'the Eighth Dwarf,' is obviously the protagonist of the web comic. Sound good to y'all?"

"Sure does!" Jill laughed, nervousness apparent in her tone, "We can't wait to actually converse with our fans, our family who's supported us. Brought us so far in such a short time."

"Well alrighty! Stay tuned. Don't touch that mouse, people," Ritchie almost seemed to plead with his listeners.

"Yeah, all half dozen of them that are actually tuned in," Ryan whispered to Roxanne, snickering and unaware that despite his low voice his words were still picked up over the air as well as everyone's headset, including Ritchie's who pretended to block it out.

"Up next we've got Nine Inch Nails, Closer. That's off the soundtrack to the 'Hitcher,' during that completely badass scene where Sean Bean takes out a bunch of cop cars and downs that chopper all from behind the wheel of his Firebird Trans Am with a simple hand gun." The music started to play and Ritchie flipped off the 'ON AIR' sign, signaling the band could speak freely.

"Where's your bathroom, man?" Robbie asked.

"Uh, best one for you to use is back down the hall you came from and hang a left just before the exit," Ritchie replied, "Though honestly I have no idea if it's suited for you…"

"No prob," Robbie waved, laughing as he backed up toward the door in his wheelchair, "I'll figure my way once I get there. I'm quite adaptable," he explained as he left the sound booth.

"It's true. He's extremely agile for a cripple!" Ryan joked, "I once watched him scale a refrigerator because Dale hid the cookie jar at the top."

"Ry!" Roxanne scolded, "I'm beginning to wonder what I see in you."

"You know you love me," Ryan grinned broadly at her.

"Barely."

"Hey," Kirby whispered to Jill once she'd taken off her headphones, "You doin' alright, hon?"

"Mhm," Jill nodded ever so slightly.

"If you want to get out of here…at any time, you just give me a sign, okay?"

"Sure thing," Jill smiled

"Nobody touch anything, alright? I'll be right back," Ritchie told them all before leaving the room.

"You have got to be kidding me!" Ryan groaned when the soundproof door shut behind Ritchie, "This guy is a nut job. Doing this thing out of his basement? C'mon. This isn't gonna get us anywhere. What kind of morbid losers would listen to an internet radio station that solely played music from the soundtracks of horror movies?"

"Oh. My. God, would you cool it already, you're being such a dipshit today," Roxanne snarled back at him.

"What? All I'm saying is we could have made better use of our time than talking with this nerd that nobody pays attention too," Ryan defended himself.

"Nerd? Right, this coming from the only one in the room who plays Dungeons & Dragons," Roxanne rolled her eyes, "Jesus, Ry. What is it with you and your obsession for hating on the dude? He's got an actual listener base and keeps a counter of hits to his website at the very top of the page which by the way, I might add, is streaming live on the 'world wide web,' okay? Some record exec in Seattle or New York could be tuned in, or someone in Italy may hear about us today, actually like us and then buy a freaking CD! So what if it isn't some well known talk show or the BBC. It's SOMETHING. The guy has hardly said 5 words to us. If you'd loosen up, you might actually enjoy the show. You are seriously starting to piss me off. Don't blow it for us by taking another shot at him while we're on the air. Yeah, he heard you, numbskull." Ryan looked flabbergasted at the verbal beating his girlfriend had just delivered and gave no comeback, "And if you ask me, this is a pretty damned spacious basement. Probably bigger than the rest of his house. The man is obviously successful."

* * *

><p>"How we doing, baby?" Ritchie poked his head into the neighboring sound booth where his assistant, call screener and girlfriend Penny Montoya sat at her desk. She smiled over her shoulder at him.<p>

"Just fine, Ritch," She spoke assuringly, "Hits are up 33% from half an hour ago."

"That's what I want to hear," he blew her a kiss and shut the door once more.

* * *

><p>Robbie had made it back to the double doorway they'd come through earlier and looked to his left and right, "Sheesh. Could this place be any more confusing?" he thought as he headed right after deciding left looked like a dead end with no doorways to any restroom. He passed a couple other halls to his left and right, and gone several yards before deciding to turn back in the original direction Ritchie had told him to go. He trudged along the thick rug that made rolling difficult until finally spotting a sign leading him to the unisex restroom. With a very…narrow…doorway. "This is gonna be fun," he sighed, pushing open the door and preparing to make his way into the restroom without his wheelchair.<p>

* * *

><p>Ritchie joined the others once more in the main sound booth just as Korn's 'Twisted Transistor' was drawing to a close, "Back in 10," he warned for them all to put their headphones back on and everyone scrambled to do so, "Looks like we're still minus one…" Ritchie observed, "Oh well. Three, two…And we're back, ladies and gentlemen, hello and thank you for tuning in to Stab Internet Radio, music to be killed by. As promised, here in the cave with me are, well, at the moment four out of five members of The Eighth Dwarf &amp; Other Survivors. We are down the dwarf, though he should be returning momentarily. Okay, this first question I have is bound to come up at some point so let's get it out of the way right out of the gate. Favorite scary movie of all time, and why. Ten seconds for each of you. I'll go first. Red Dragon. Gotta love me some Hannibal. Sir Anthony Hopkins pulling the strings from his jail cell, and Ralph Fiennes getting away with murder in broad daylight in a crowded building, then faking his death in the end, only to come back for a second finale! The rest of you ready? Good. Ten seconds, Jill's on deck. Go."<p>

"If you're gonna pick a Hannibal the cannibal flick, why not go with Hannibal Rising, where it all began for Dr. Lecter? Beautiful justification for how one can be driven from innocence to becoming a monster. But my answer is It. C'mon, clowns are scary enough, but one with jaws? Legendary."

Ritchie pointed at Roxanne next, "I'd have to go with Slither. The perfect combination of horrifying and hilarious since I can't do straight up dark and bloody. Plus the cast is led by Nathan Fillion. Ahhh, faint!" Roxanne brought the back of her hand to her forehead, striking a dramatic pose.

Ryan's turn came next, "Scary Movie 4. Oh man, that scene with Dr. Phil and Sha…hey, I can't hear myself anymore," Ryan tapped his headphones, giving Ritchie a confused look.

"Hmm, really?" Ritchie cocked his head to the side, pretending to fiddle with some dials on his soundboard, "Gee, that's strange. We seem to have lost Ryan's mic. I wonder what _possibly _could have happened. Dale?"

"Uh, my turn? Well first off, I can speak for Robbie-who isn't back yet…oddly," Dale glanced at the digital clock on the wall, "He'd say Final Destination. The concept of actual Death as an entity coming after people just blows him away. For myself, It has to be Hostel, all the way. So much realism in that movie. It's intriguing that such organizations who orchestrate the killing of humans for entertainment might actually exist somewhere on the planet."

"Can I jump in here?" Kirby snatched Jill's headphones and spoke into the mic closest to her.

"Of course, state your name and relation to the band for our listeners, sweetheart," Ritchie smiled warmly.

"Kirby Reed. The band's unofficial manager. Dale, you're a doll, I love you. Really. But if you want to talk about Realism, please. Stab, the original. That actually happened to real people. And myself, Jill & Robbie here survived a similar plot, as we all know."

"Alright, thanks for your input everyone. Now the switchboard is lit up like a Christmas Tree, so we're gonna have to move on and take some calls. Hello there, you're on Stab Internet Radio with Ritchie the Toxicomaniac Doyle and the Eighth Dwarf & Other Survivors, who's this?"

"What about me?" Ryan complained.

"If someone wants to talk to you maybe Roxy'll lend you her mic," Kirby winked, the only one in the room who could hear him since she had given Jill back her headphones.

"Do you wanna die, today, Jill?" came an intense growl that startled the band. Jill sank backwards away from her mic and into Kirby's arms, nearly turning white. Dale, Ryan and Roxanne all glanced, wide eyed in her direction.

"Hey now, none of that buddy," Ritchie chuckled, "Really, anyone who's listened to this show for any length of time knows a few things. First, I get threatening calls such as this one all the time. Second, I have caller I.D. Your call can be traced, and my brother is a police officer. Lastly, if you're going to call in as a reincarnation of the mysterious Ghostface, do it right, please? Using the Christian Bale Batman bark is just boring. Get yourself a proper voice modifying device, alright? Next caller, you're on with Ritchie Doyle and the Eighth Dwarf."

"Like this?" Came a familiar voice. The girls hardly had time to breathe sighs of relief from the idea that the first caller was just a prank when they heard those words.

"Yes, yes exactly that. I applaud you for selecting the proper voice modifying device from your friendly neighborhood Radio Shack, buddy. Very original. Who's this?"

"The person who's going to make Jill Roberts pay for her sins. And I assure you, I'm quite original. I'm unlike anything you've ever seen before in your lame motion pictures."

"Really? Tell me, Mr. Ghostface killer. What sets you apart from all the others who came before you? You can't possibly do something truly unique. There's nothing new under the sun, dude," Ritchie challenged.

"Now you're quoting Scripture? You must think you're so smart, Ritchie boy. But where would the fun be if I revealed my plans this early in the game? I've hardly begun yet."

"Well buddy, if you aren't a real killer, sorry to say but your time's up. If you'll be so kind as to excuse us we've got an interview to conduct. You take care now, Mr. Scary voi-"

"I have killed."

Ritchie was caught off guard by this claim, and paused for a few seconds before deciding to indulge the caller, "I'll bite. Who?"

"Oh, just a handful of poor schmucks. I've been involved in this scene far longer than Jill. Before she was born even. I've been there all along, taking lives where it was needed, and I mean from the very beginning. I was there, watching when that whore Maureen gasped her final breath of life."

"Hey, this is a radio show, you may be guilty of murder but while on the air you'll mind your tongue. I might have kids listening."

"Ah, fair enough. My apologies. Where was I? Oh, most recently, Jill and her air headed blond friend Kirby watched me take Martha Meeks out of the mix," Ghostface told them casually.

Ritchie thought for a moment, "Martha Meeks? You're talking about the little sister of Randy Meeks? You're telling us all that you killed her?"

"Is that what I said?" Ghostface asked. Jill was in tears at this point, curled up in a ball on the ground.

"Girls is this true? What's he talking about? Did you see something?" Ritchie asked, sounding very interested at this point.

"Nothing. This is just a sick joke," Kirby spoke flatly into the mic before joining Jill on the ground.

"Can we hang up on this douchebag already?" Roxanne asked, noticing the reduced state her band mate was in, "We didn't come here to be harassed. We came for an interview, just like you said, Ritchie."

"Hang on, just a sec," Ritchie blew her off, "I'm interested in this guy. No one like him's ever called in before. You didn't answer my earlier question. What sets you apart? How do you stand out from anything the good citizens of Woodsboro have experienced before? How are you going to redefine the rules of serial killing?"

"You're the expert on the topic, aren't you? Use your imagination. Try me. Who am I, and what's my motive, hotshot?" Ghostface hissed maniacally.

"Fair enough. Let's see," Ritchie thought out loud, "I know! You're an old friend of Sidney Prescott jealous of the spotlight that's been on her, Gale Weathers, poor Jill here, and the others who've survived these charades?"

"Hmmm," Ghostface hummed, "Is that original? Wasn't that done in Stab 4 where Sid's roommate went nutso?"

"Right. And you say you've killed before," Ritchie observed, "Perhaps you're a distressed family member of one of the previous slashers? That Roman kid? Trevor? Charlie?"

"Mrs. Loomis already pulled that. C'mon, try harder!" Ghostface taunted, "This is loads of fun so far. I can see it all now. Jill is shaking in her boots, isn't she?"

"Not at all. Okay. I've got it. You ARE Charlie Walker back from the dead to finish the job you set out to do?"

"Quite an idea. But how many times have movies brought back the supposed dead killer for another round? Every series 'under the sun,' just about. And I assure you, I'm not that girly haired pretty boy. What else?"

"Well…Mickey and Stu were both let out of prison recently. You could be them. Here's a proposition for you. Come into the studio, in full garb of course, and have a sit down chat with me on the air? Let me pick your brain. Tell the public exactly what it is you're after?" Ritchie offered excitedly.

"Interesting proposal. I'll sleep on it. For now I've got a better idea," Ghostface began.

"So do I. Next caller. Let's go to…line three, hi you're on Stab Internet Radio, who's this?"

"Still me," Ghostface announced, "Looks like your pretty little call screener fell asleep on the job, Ritch, honey," Ghostface cackled.

"What the-" Ritchie's jaw dropped as the glass panel behind the band shattered and Robbie's wheelchair flew into the room, knocking Ryan off his feet. Before all the glass had hit the ground the power throughout the basement went out.

"Robbie!" Kirby shouted and ran from the booth into the hall, followed closely by Dale. Ritchie hurried out behind them but headed in the opposite direction to look for Penny.

"Don't leave me!" Jill cried hysterically, still crumpled on the ground. Roxanne, once she'd tended to Ryan and made sure he wasn't knocked out crawled to Jill, cutting her hands and jean covered knees on broken glass along the way, and hugged her into her chest.

"Shhhh, Ryan and I are staying right here, Jill," masking any of her own fear and confusion to comfort her friend.

* * *

><p>Around the corner from the main sound booth Ritchie flew through Penny's door but immediately withdrew to the hall, falling to his knees when he saw the blood strewn about the entire room. The windows, walls, floor, soundboard-all stained with red.<p>

Elsewhere, Kirby and Dale separated at the fork at the entrance, Jill going left, Dale going right.

"Robbie!" Jill Screeched along with Dale.

"Right here-ow!" Robbie grunted as Kirby tripped, landing on top of him. She squeezed him tight.

"Dale get your skinny ass over here!" Kirby ordered

"What the hell's going on here?" Robbie demanded, "Which one of you eggheads jacked my ride and turned the lights out on me?"

"Dale, grab his chair," Kirby called to Dale once more, still clinging to Robbie.

"That can wait. Sweetheart, are you alright? I thought you'd been hurt!" Dale pulled Kirby away and took her place, crushing Robbie's ribs.

"I'm on it," Ryan's voice came through the darkness as he rounded the corner pushing Robbie's wheelchair, Jill and Roxanne at his heels, "Let's get you back into your legs, bro," he knelt down to find Robbie and help him back up but Robbie sprang up, landing comfortably in his seat despite the blackness surrounding them.

"Thanks, but no sweat. Been practicing what I'd do if I ever fell out," Robbie grinned proudly at his accomplishment though no one saw.

"Fuck!" Ritchie could be heard down the hall, "What's going on? Where is everybody?"

"Over here, Ritchie," Roxanne called to him.

"Who's got a phone?" He inquired, "Somebody call the damned cops. We gotta get outside. Whoever was in here got out pretty freaking fast."

* * *

><p>Sorry about the long wait for this chapter. I hope the action makes up for it! Chapter 5 is coming soon! As always, I am greatly appreciative of the reviews so far, and would love future ones as well.<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Kennedy Collins is based on the likeness of Joshua Jackson. I was extremely ticked that Jackson wasn't further utilized in Scream 2, so I'm bringing his character back. The name Kennedy Collins is my creation, as I could not find the name of his character anywhere.

Also, if you've been reading since before chapter five was posted, take a look at four again. I added a bit of dialogue from Ghostface, specifically the part after Ritchie asks who GF has killed.

* * *

><p><strong>A halfway house somewhere outside Woodsboro:<strong>

"C'mon Mick. You're really not gonna be at my shindig tonight? It's in honor of our freedom for murder, and a celebration to give thanks for Sid Prescott's long overdue death!" Stu got on his hands and knees before his new roommate Mickey, begging him to attend the party he'd planned for later that evening.

"A. Accessories to murder," Mickey corrected him, "B. My name's McKenzie. And C.? You're a bizarre homicidal freak. You never sounded like this in any of our correspondence on the inside. You talk about Sidney dying as if it's a wonderful thing," Mickey seemed unamused, even annoyed at the wide eyed Stu kneeling before him on their kitchen floor.

"And you talk about Sid dying as if it's a HORRIBLE thing!" Stu sprang back to his feet, trying to reason with Mickey, "As if you _weren't _a, what was it? 'Bizarre homicidal freak'? If it wasn't for her we wouldn't have been locked up in the first place. We wasted half our lives in a cage because of her. Also if not for her finally taking it in the throat we would still be wasting away while she was out, free and alive prancing around, probably getting rich off of our hard work. And don't give me this bullshit about 'accessories.' You and I know damn well we killed. We weren't just accomplices. In fact, the truth? We killed Sid."

"Oh really?"

"Yes. We did."

"How, pray tell, did we pull that off?" Mickey asked quizzically.

"We started this thing years ago. We can take full responsibility for the fact that she is no longer being a bellyaching she-dog. 'Wha! Wha! I'm Sidney Prescott!'" Stu pretended to rub his eyes like a fussing baby "'My slut mommy got hacked to death. I'm a victim, pity me!' We inspired others to follow in our footsteps. Carry the torch. We started a movement, _McKenzie._ Like Romero, or-or Malcolm X!"

"Knock it off, Stuart, would you? I'd hardly call a couple of copy cat brats trying and failing to duplicate what we did a 'movement.' Besides, if anyone should take credit for starting it all it would be Roman Bridger. Not you or Billy fucking Loomis," Mickey closed his eyes, trying to block out the sound of Stu's voice.

"Did they fail, Mickey boy? Huh? Did they? The kids got farther than we did."

"By the way, do you know anything about who Malcolm X was? No, don't answer that. Just tell me, who is it that you believe will actually be in attendance at your…'shindig?' Do you have some crazed legion of fan club members somewhere?"

"As a matter of fact I do," Stu grew quieter and smiled wider, "Wait-don't tell me you didn't have a boat load of fine young ladies writing love letters to you while you were in! You poor deprived child, youI" he faked sympathy.

"Oh I did," Mickey replied, emotionless, stone faced, "I chose to ignore a great deal of them."

"Well excuse me, Mr. took-the-high-road, but I obliged them all. God damn, Mick. What'd they do to your head while you were living in a cell? You're a stuck up stiff. Or were you always like that?"

"That's nice," Mickey ignored the insult, "So you've invited a pack of psycho females who worship you because you were in prison for being a serial killer, here, to our home? Bravo sir. I give you my sincerest of congratulations. And may I point out that if they were 15 when we were put away, let's see 1996, 2011," Mickey placed a finger against his temple, holding that elbow with his other hand as if he were deep in thought, "They'd be about 31 today. And those are the young ones. Some shindig it's gonna be. You have fun with that. I'll be back tomorrow morning." Mickey strode out the door, leaving Stu to process everything he'd just been told.

"Where're you headed to?" Stu asked.

"My little step brother's in a band. He's got rehearsal tonight. I'm gonna check him out. If you get bored here call me up and come on by."

"What about curfew?" Stu suddenly shouted out the door, "Enjoy violating your parole!"

"Likewise with the copious amounts of booze you'll consume later, brother," Mickey held an arm above his head and gave Stu the finger as he continued walking down the driveway.

* * *

><p>Ritchie, along with Jill and the rest of the band and one additional unfamiliar face sat waiting impatiently in the Woodsboro P.D.'s interrogation room. The latter remained motionless in the corner of the room, virtually unnoticed.<p>

"I don't understand it," Ritchie rocked back and forth in his seat against the wall, staring at the ground, disbelief in his eyes, "No one should have been able to get in there without permission. I have cameras, and alarms…"

"We'll figure it out," Roxanne ran a hand soothingly down his back consoling him from the neighboring chair, "This is Woodsboro. The bad guys are always taken down."

Jill, who's eyes were already bloodshot and her usually perfect jet black hair strewn about, resumed sobbing uncontrollably and Kirby did her best to calm her friend down.

"It won't bring her back," Ritchie was getting choked up, "I'll never hear her beautiful voice again," He let out a brief burst of laughter, "We were writing songs together, y'know. She was gonna release an album in the next couple of months.

"Oh yeah?" Roxanne smiled, hunching over to meet his eyes, "Can you sing me some lyrics you and her wrote?"

"For fuck's sake!" Ryan cried, "Would you like the rest of us to leave you two alone in here?" he stood from his chair on the other side of her, breathing like an angry bull ready to gore someone in half.

"What the hell is your problem?" Roxanne glared up at him.

"My problem is, he's not the one who had a 25 pound wheelchair chucked at him through a window!"

"You know what? You're right, Ryan. I'm so sorry for trying to comfort this man who's girlfriend was just cut open when I should be catering to your bruises. Did you see me chasing after him when Robbie's chair landed on you? Hell no. I'm the one who pulled it off you and made sure you hadn't punctured a lung. Something, I might add, I'm gradually beginning to regret. You know what you both have in common though?" Roxanne stared at Ryan coldly, and stood to meet him eye to eye before whispering, "Neither one of you has a girlfriend any longer," She turned to Ritchie and knelt by his side, placing a hand on his knee, "I'm sorry you had to hear that," she told him quietly.

"Let's all settle down, and not make any brash decisions just yet, shall we?" Dale suggested diplomatically.

"Shut your mouth, Dale," Ryan pointed at him angrily.

"Hey I was objecting to her breaking up with you, trying to help, man," Dale defended himself.

"I don't need your help," Dale snapped.

"Well alright then. Excuse me for giving a monkey's ass about the relationship of good friends."

"I said shut your cock sucking pie hole!" Dale turned toward him, seeming ready to attack.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, ladies please let's bring it down a notch," Detective Ross Hoss stepped between the arguing pair.

"I'm not a fairy like this one," Ryan kept his burning eyes on Dale.

"Coulda fooled me," Roxanne noted, "Seems from my point of view you've been creating as much distance as possible between your hands and this," she rubbed her hips sensually.

"Hey, cool it. We're all under a tremendous amount of stress here so let's get down to business and sort through this as calmly as possible," Hoss offered. He was followed into the room by Sheriff Burke who spoke next.

"We're gonna do this in an orderly fashion ladies and gents. Take you one by one into my office for questioning. If we receive your full cooperation it'll run smooth and we'll all likely be out by supper time. Until then I'm going to have to ask that you do not leave this room for any reason without my approval."

"Even me, Sheriff?" the stranger in the room asked, the first words he'd spoken since his arrival.

"Yes, Kennedy. As much as it pains me to say so, you are in fact a suspect," Burke informed him.

"Who the heck might you be by the way?" Ritchie demanded.

"Kennedy Collins. I'm Martha Meeks' fiancé," he replied flatly, "Here to find out who reported her dead and why."

"Uh, that would be me," Kirby raised her eyebrows, "Have you tried going to her house? I'm sure you'd find your answer as to why."

"I did that after I got a call from the Norfolk police, yes. After I told them I put her on a flight here to California this morning."

"That's impossible. You're a lying sack of shit and you're messing with us!" Jill accused hotly.

"It's the truth, ladies," Hoss jumped in, "Called the airline myself and spoke with four different employees all who claim they checked the manifest for the flight Ms. Meeks was booked to be on. Each one of them swears up and down she checked in and was onboard the aircraft upon take off according to their records. We sent a squad car over to the airport to further investigate, look over security cam footage, possibly track down the gate attendants in Connecticut at the time of boarding to get a more firm answer but for the time being, Mr. Collins story holds up."

"Then where is she?" Jill asked, looking stunned, "Kirby and I were supposed to pick her up when she got in. We haven't heard anything. So what happened to her?"

"We were hoping you would answer that for us," Burke responded, "Her cell phone has been disconnected. Authorities in Connecticut checked out her bedroom and found nothing. Place was spotless, bed made, suitcases gone. Nothing."

"There was no body found at the radio station either," Hoss announced, and Ritchie's jaw spilled open with surprise, "There was blood. Lots of it, but no Penny, Mr. Doyle."

"But I saw her laying there…" Ritchie's eyes began to fell with tears.

"So far the only common factor in the disappearance of Ms. Meeks and suspected murder of Ms. Montoya is, you, Jill," Burke looked to her and Kirby.

"What about him!" Jill raised a finger at Kennedy, sounding pissed, "Kirby and I know what we saw on Martha's webcam. Someone was in her room. Someone attacked her, and he's denying it happened. Got here kinda quick, didn't you?" She shot at him.

"She has a point, Kennedy," Hoss agreed.

"I…" Kennedy exhaled deeply, "Come from a family of means…is that a crime? Someone reports my girlfriend was murdered in her own home. I'm questioned about it, so naturally I head over to her place where I found nothing. I then find out she's gone missing here, and had a way to get here immediately so I used it. Lock me up if you want."

"What about your job?" Kirby asked, "Martha had told us that you typically worked mornings so she was taking a shuttle to the airport."

"I got my shift covered last minute," Kennedy responded without meeting Kirby's gaze.

"Speaking of means, that's a fancy looking establishment you've got beneath your house, Mr. Doyle," Burke refocused his attention on Ritchie, "A place like that is just about impossible to build in a residential area around these parts. You have the proper permits for it?"

Ritchie opened his mouth to speak but only made a few choked sounds before slouching in his chair, rolling his eyes.

"I'll take that as a no," Burke nodded, "Right then, looks like you're spending the night here, Doyle. You too, Collins. Jill, you're over 18 now, correct?"

"Yes sir," Jill mumbled, looking down at the floor.

"I'm afraid the same goes for you then, at least just for the night til we can get some answers. If nothing else, consider it for your own safety, folks. Everyone else is free to leave if you'd like after we've questioned each of you.

"You have got to be yanking my chain here, officer! You don't even have confirmed murders, and I've got a business to run!" Ritchie gasped.

"Your girlfriend has just been supposedly cut to pieces and you're biggest worry is about your business?" Hoss questioned.

"Well no, there's that too-" Ritchie stuttered, "I'm just spooked and want out of here, okay?" He looked ready to sob again.

"Can I at least make a phone call?" Jill asked kindly, "I was supposed to pick up my little brother from his after school program. I need to call his foster folks."

"Sure, Jill," Burke gave a partial smile, "Right this way," he led her out of the interrogation room to a phone, but turned back to the group one last time, "Ryan Kwan, would you please make your way to my office? You're up first," Burke had the underlying motive of not wanting to leave Ryan in the same room with the others so as to deflate any left over tension from earlier.

* * *

><p>"Hi, it's me," Jill smiled into the phone when a woman answered, "I wasn't able to pick Corey up from school. Something came up and…oh that's good! I'm so glad. Huge weight off my back. Can I say hi?…hey kiddo, sorry we weren't able to hang out today. I got busy with some band related stuff. I promise I'll make it up to you though. How does pizza at the arcade on Sunday sound?…Awesome! It's a date, mister, you bet. How was class today?…Really? Extremely cool, I'm so darned proud of you…no, not tonight, sweetie, I'm sorry. I can't make it. Tomorrow I'll come over and read to you before bed, alright? I promise. I won't let anyone come between my promises, okay?" Jill's eyes began to glisten and she did her best to keep her voice level, "Alright, well hey, I need to get going. Miss you, Corey, love you lots…bye!"<p>

* * *

><p>"So you're Kennedy, huh?" Kirby asked, rising to shake his hand, "I'm Kirby, we've talked on the phone a time or two."<p>

"Mr. Prescott," Ritchie blurted out before Kennedy had a chance to answer, "What about Mr. Prescott, Sidney's dad? I say it's him. The guy who called in to the station said he'd been there since the beginning, since Maureen Prescott's murder. If I were in his shoes, with my wife and daughter slaughtered, I'd go ape shit crazy too!"

"Thought of that," Hoss assured him, "Tracked down the number to his home in Brighton, England. He's there."

* * *

><p>Jill hung up the phone and turned to speak with Burke when her heart stopped beating. She instantly recognized the face of the man sitting in the waiting room staring directly into her eyes. She sprinted back to the interrogation room, suddenly sweating heavily as she burst through the door, lunging at Dale's feet.<p>

"It's Charlie!"

* * *

><p>AN: I originally had not intended to use Mickey's step brother or Ritchie's brother, who I mentioned was a cop in the previous chapter, as main characters. I want to open it up to the readers though, and ask what you think. Is there already a big enough cast? Would you like to see another couple of characters? That could expand the story by a chapter or two, maybe more. Let me know. Otherwise, I'll keep their mention to a minimum.

Chapter 6 may take a bit of time, as I've kept a promise to a couple of fans that I'd post the first two chapters of a Firefly fanfic I've been working on, so if you're a fellow Browncoat, keep your eyes peeled for that in the next couple of days! The beginning is completed, I just need to clean it up before posting it.


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